It Never Ends
by Konsui's Little Brother
Summary: Canada didn't think it would be different from his own country, despite the fact that he had been a student at Hogwarts twice in the past. Still, he'd hoped he would be remembered. Especially since he was only there because England had messed up again.
1. Sudden Meetings

A/N: Look! A new story! Please, if you're waiting for my other stories to be updated, don't hate me! I've just been having major issues with them. They will be updated! As for this story, it is made up of a collection of one-shots that follow Canada's stay at Hogwarts. Eventually, a plot will be introduced. It just might take a while...

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><p>"Just who, might I ask, are you?" Snape questioned. The wording was polite but even the first years could hear the threatening tone in his voice; the older students could see the tip of his wand sticking out from under his sleeve, ready to cast a hex at the slightest indication of a threat.<p>

The blond boy must have noticed it too, because his hands were suddenly held out in front of him in the universal sign for 'peace'. For a moment, barely there, barely noticable, there was a flash of something like hurt in his eyes. Just as quickly as it came though, it was gone. In fact, there was even a faint glimmer in his blue eyes. "I guess it has been a while, Severus, hasn't it?"

Not even a bit of recognition showed on the Potions Masters face, eyes still narrowed into coal black slits. The other members of the staff, Dumbledore included, didn't seem to recognize him either. Which was to be expected, really, when even his own flesh and blood couldn't remember him. "I'm Mathew Williams. Of Canada."

Still, their looks remained almost blank.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter. I'm not here for my business anyways." Not like being there for himself would warrant a different response. Even in his own country, Mathew's presence rarely got more than a curious look. Maybe a nod if he was especially noticable that day. "I'm here on behalf of my father."

Standing up, sky blue robes billowing around him as he did, Dumbledore waved a hand in Snape's direction. "He means no harm, Severus." Spectacled eyes turned to the boy in front of him, struggling to figure out where he knew him from, where they'd met before. Somewhere important, the old wizard was sure, but the reason why it was so important seemed to be lurking just out of his reach. "Tell me, Mr. Williams, who is your father?"

Mr. Williams? That was a first. He might have been centuries old nation but he didn't think that anyone had ever called him that. Not even back when he was noticed by the people who ran his country. It brought a smile, soft and gentle, to his face. "Arthur Kirkland, sirs, of London."

And it all came back to the old school master, a look of almost-shock crossing his face. Blue eyes widened, the customary twinkle in them replaced by nothing short of regret. "Arthur? Than that means you must be Ame-" Dumbledore cut himself off, face scrunching up in confusion. That wasn't right. He was positive that America went by the name of Alfred. Not only that, but the youngster was absolutely loathe to call Arthur his 'father'.

The smile on Mathew's face faded. "As I already said, Dumbledore, I'm from Canada. Not America." Was it that hard? Really? He'd spent almost over fourteen years at Hogwarts, two sememsters there because Arthur had forgotten that he'd already been once, and still they couldn't remember him?

A silence reighned through the hall for a moment before the white-haired wizard let out a quiet 'oh'. No doubt he had just realized who he was talking too. Dumbledore gave him an apologetic smile and Mathew smiled back; a perfect smile that just beamed 'you're forgiven', even if it still left an ache in his chest like no other.

"What is it you're doing here, lad? Your father hasn't landed himself in trouble again has he?" The tension suddenly gone, Dumbledore let himself settle back down into his chair. After a few seconds the rest of the teachers followed suit and the students, those that weren't too busy gossiping, resumed their eating; eyes still firmly locked onto the mysterious boy in front of the Staff Table.

"Unfortunatly, Father's latest experiment didn't go quite as he planned." Understatement right there. The European Nation had been trying to create a potion that would create a drought. Instead he'd turned himself into a rabbit. "I know that he was supposed to come here on a favor regarding Harry, sir, so I've come in his place."

Harry, Harry, Harry, the newest prodigy in his father's land. The boy was all that his father could talk about lately; all of the good that he was doing for the wizarding world and, in turn, the human world and the Nations themselves. As if this one child was the cure to all. As if he was his son and not just another face in the sea of people living within them.

"Really now? Why I am horribly sorry that Arthur's experiments didn't work out, it's wonderful to have you here Mathew. Perhaps we could discuss the arrangments after dinner?" Dumbledore asked. A nod was the only answer he got. "Brilliant! Why don't you join your old house for dinner?"

It was clear, to Mathew at least, that Dumbledore couldn't remember where he'd been placed. Which was fine, really, because it had been a long time ago now that he was thinking about it. A lot of students had been sorted since then too. The man couldn't be expected to remember where everyone went.

That thought in mind, Mathew slowly made his way over to the Slytherin table, easily slipping into their ranks unnoticed.

Just like when he had actually been going there, back when he was just a colony.


	2. The Night Never Ends

A/N: I'm most likely going to get flak for this chapter but I really don't care. See, this is critical to the plot and the reason as to why Canada's a Slytherin. And, you know, I love making up pasts for people like Blaise. Pasts that will be then explored in later chapters and one-shots! Weeee~

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><p><em>The scent of blood was heavy in the air. It made the atmosphere thick and hard to breath, harder than it normally was in the marshes. It was almost constricting, the way it wormed its way into every haggard breath and clung to the inside of his throat.<em>

_A harsh cough racked through Mathew's body, thin and battered and bloodied, but not broken, never broken, and nearly knocked him over. A calloused hand, dark with mud and the dried blood of his soldiers, swung out and grabbed onto a low-hanging branch to steady himself before he toppled. _

_The hacks didn't let up until a fellow Canadian stopped in his march and placed a hand on his back. It was a soft-touch, mindful of wounds that were no doubt there, but it still hurt; like fire and knives and salt in an open wound._

_Mathew's breath caught in his throat, twisted and stuck, before coming out in a jagged rush of air. He cast the soldier, Jeremy Spul, age nineteen, a grateful look and the march continued. _

_There was no beat to march to, from drums or otherwise, and all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of sick and injured soldiers and the 'thwulp' of botts being pried from mud with every step taken. Pain shot through the blond nations body with each step, shooting up his legs and his spine, travelling out his arms and down into his fingers, yet his pace stayed the same as the rest of the troop._

_Right until the 'pitter-patter' of a gun being fire was heard and pain exploded in his chest. No blood ran from him but a soldier in front of him fell to the ground, body quickly being sucked up by the mud that they were hiking through._

_More shots were fired, from both sides, and Mathew was right there. Bullets flew and people fell and Mathew felt like his whole chest was on fire because it was __his people dieing__! Another burst of pain exploded in him, this time in his lower stomache, and this time the blood ran. And it ran and ran and ran and Mathew never stopped shooting even when he was kneeling in the dark brown gunk and his throat was being constircted again because there was just somuchblood-_

A loud gasp wrentched itself from Mathew's throat, body jerking up into a half-sitting position. Light violet eyes moved quickly, frantically, as his mind tried to remember where he was. Certaintly not at home or Alfred's or even his Father's or his Papa's.

Several long panic-filled moments were spent trying to remember, remember what he shouldn't have forgotten, before it hit him. Hogwarts. He was at Hogwarts. Slytherin house. A bed in the fifth years boys dormitory, to be completely exact. Knowing that didn't help though. The dark green curtains hanging around his bed were suffocating him, keeping the fresh air out and the stench of blood and decomposing flesh and the swamp in.

Yanking the hangings back, Mathew threw himself out of the bed. Almost instantly the stench lessened but it was still there, faint and really just his mind playing tricks on him, and Mathew knew that just leaving the bed wasn't enough. He needed someone to talk too, even if it was just idle chit-chat, so, with a quick glance to count how many beds were still filled, the blond headed out towards the common room.

Thin arms, wrapped loosely in a long-sleeved black pajama top, wrapped themselves around his middle as he walked down the torch-lit hallway. The flames danced across the stone, creating shadows that almost looked like his fallen people.

Mathew steadfastedly ignored them.

Upon entering the common room, Mathew was greeted by one of the other boys in his year already curled up in one of the plush green chairs. A dark blue blanket was flung over the body, which Mathew instantly recognized as belonging to Blaise Zambini, but it was obvious the other boy was still painfully wide awake.

"It just seems to drag on forever, eh?" Mathew asked, a wry smile settling itself on his face as he sat down in a chair across from Blaise.

Said boy jumped, startled. Limbs flailed and got tangled up in the blankets and, within moments, the dark-skinned boy found himself in a heap on the floor; wide green eyes locked on to Mathew's amused violet ones. Then, taking in the sleep rumpled and sweat-drenched Slytherin across from him, he gave a slow nod. "Yeah, yeah, it does."

Neither spoke after that. Blaise climbed back into his chair, squirming around until he was perfectly comfortable, and then they were both still. There were no questions, no 'what did you dream about's because they were unneeded and unwanted.

And the night stretched on, despite the silent complaints from the two boys it recieved.


	3. Potion Problems part one

A/N: First, I want to thank everyone for those amazing reviews you left! Especially you, Spockie! Your review was absolutely amazing! I hope I'm not letting any of you down with this next chapter but I felt that this was how it should pan out for his next little meeting. Hopefully you all do too!

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><p>A low growl echoed from Ron's throat as he brought his spoon down, harshly, onto the prone beatle he was working on. The bug put up no struggle against the wooden instrument, frail body quickly giving away with a loud 'squelch' noise before it was shoved to join the slowly growing pile in front of him.<p>

Mathew could only flinch at the action. The noise didn't bother him, not much anyways, but the technique was so horribly off it was almost sickening. The bugs were supposed to be carefully mashed, not half-flattened and then half-heartedly tossed into the couldron. That would do nothing but curdle the Riven Juice they had already added.

"Uhm, excuse me?" Mathew ventured, carefully testing the waters between the two. They seemed pretty rocky to him, depsite the fact that they had just met when Snape paired them up.

"What?" Ron snarled. He didn't even bother to stop mutilating the beatles to look at his partner, his stupid Slytherin partner, when he spoke.

It took a lot of effort not to wince. Not because of the tone, but because, for once, neither he nor his brother had done a thing to him. He shouldn't hate him that much right? Even if he was in Slytherin house; but then, things seemed to have changed since he was last a student at Hogwarts and how far the rivalries stretched seemed to be one of those things. "I just wanted to suggest you work on the beatles a little longer. They're supposed to be more crushed then that."

"Well, I suggest you keep your suggestions to yourself! I can do my own potion!" Ron snapped. Who did this guy think he was? Making such a grand entrance yesterday, not getting in trouble for it, and then trying to show him up class? Yeah. That wasn't going to happen.

The next beatle was purposfully crushed even less then the previous ones were.

Mathew sighed, softly and unheard, and turned back to his own perfectly brewed potion. No one could say that he didn't try to help the kid. It wouldn't be his fault when the potion burned a hole through the parchment instead of changing it's color, he told himself, it would be Ron's.

Just as he moved to reach across the table and grab the beets that had to be diced, out of the corner of his eyes, he could clearly see his fellow Slytherin, Draco, readying to throw something. In front of the pale blond was a large pile of Chikasaw Seeds, an ingrediant that would no doubt cause the potion they were working on to explode.

Mathew sat back, lips pursed slightly, and shook his head in Draco's direction. The gesture went unseen though, ignored he tried to force his mind, not unseen, just ignored, and Draco flicked one of the seeds in the direction of Ron's couldron. Without thinking, his hand shot out smacked the seed away; an action that earned him an odd look from both Ron and Draco.

"What're you doin'?" Ron questioned. The anger was still there, laced into every word, and Mathew prided himself in realizing that he hadn't seen the seed.

He shrugged. "I thought I saw a bug. Sorry."

Behind them, someones couldron burst into flames and the green clad members of the room burst into snickers. Snape was half way over to the boy, scoldings still on his tounge, when a second Gryffindor's potion blew up. And then a third and a fourth, all of them near where Mathew and his partner were sitting.

And Ron must have figured something out by that point because he was suddenly staring at Mathew with wide, surprise filled eyes.


	4. Fathers part one

A/N: So this one didn't turn out the way I originally hoped it would but whatever. It still sets the mood needed for part two and that's all that counts, right? Right? I'm going to just count all of the crickets I hear chriping as my amazing readers agreeing with me. Speaking of amazing readers, I hope you all like this part!

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><p>"I can't believe your dad wants you to do that, Draco! Doesn't he know how dangerous it is?" Blaise hissed, eyes wide and nervous.<p>

Beside him, Draco shrugged. His steely blue eyes were still locked on to the letter that he'd recieved moments ago, a note from his father with requests for him to get close to Harry for the Dark Lord. His skin had an almost flushed look to it now, too. Like there was more to the words on the paper than it seemed; and of course there was. There were threats hidden behind everyword, lingering promises of what would happen to him if he didn't listen and do what he'd been told.

"Father doesn't care." Draco's voice came out raspier sounding than he wanted it too, and he was suddenly glad that Blaise had insisted they open the letter in the bathroom and not at the feast. It would have been so horribly embarrasing if the other Slytherin students saw how shaken he got frm reading a simple letter, let alone one addressed to him from home. They might even get suspicious.

Blaise let out an angry snort, letting himself slide down the bathroom wall until he was sitting on the cold stone floor. "I know. He should though. Father's are supposed to care."

Of course, Blaise would be upset over that. The dark-skinned boys own father had never been around, always out flirting with barmaids and lurking in shadows he didn't belong in. It always deeply upset him to know that Draco's father was similar to his own.

It was at that moment that one of the stall doors creaked open and Mathew Williams slowly padded his way over to the sink next to Draco. Both boys stared at him, wide eyed in surprise, but neither could actually think of anything to say. That conversation was supposed to be private! Draco was sure that all of the stalls had been empty when he checked!

Luckily, Mathew didn't let them stew about it for long. "You should try to keep in mind that 'father' is a relative term, Blaise. It doesn't mean 'unconditional love'. It means judgement. And if you fail to meet their expectations, that judgement becomes even harsher."

Mathew could still remember those first few years at Arthur's house, back before the European nation became so focused on Alfred and stopped seeing him, when all he was given was judgement. Days that Mathew muttered something in French or made the smallest motion that seemed like he was rebelling against Arthur, those judgements got harsher. Even now, when the air was especially cold and Mathew was especially tired, he could still feel the sting of that judgement as it tore into the skin on his back.

Not bothering to look at either boy, Mathew turned off the faucet and grabbed a hold of the white handtowel hanging on the wall. "Even so, you shouldn't hold it against him. A father, biological or not, only tries to do what he feels is best. Even if it doesn't make sense to you, it makes sense to him. Their judgement is because they want you to be safe and, even if it hurts you a little in the process, they think that the end is worth the means."

Even though it never was.

The end was never worth the means. It was never what you wanted and all it did was hurt, hurt, hurt. But that was just how it turned out for him. Alfred hadn't had that problem; the means had been justified in the end. But his brother was lucky like that, with things always seemign to work out fine for him in the end even during times of war.

Neatly hanging the towel back on its rack, Mathew gave the two boy a small smile. It wasn't a real one, but years of practice ensured that it looked like it was. "Just make sure you don't let their judgement rule you and you don't forgive what should never be forgiven. You won't like the person you become."

And then he was gone, slipping from the bathroom as quietly as he'd slipped in, and leaving behind two very confused Slytherin boys.

"It...Sounds like he knows what he's talking about." Blaise said.

Draco gulped and nodded, something in the back of his mind telling him that this was a conversation worth remembering.


	5. Memories Never Leave

A/N: Okay, I have to really apologize for this one, guys. It's not the best piece of writing I've done but I guess it works. Putting more background to the characters and all that great stuff. I'm not going to be getting the next chapter up this week, or next week most likely, because I have a horse show that I'm going to be competing in.

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><p>It had been almost three weeks since Mathew started his third complete term at Hogwarts, going into Fifth year for his third time. Technically, it was night. Most likely a little after midnight, his English part was still a bit rusty though and the exact time escaped the reaches of his mind.<p>

He hadn't been able to sleep any later than that since he entered the castle. Too many memories had been brought up by coming back into the stone walls, too many flashes of scenes that had already happened.

It was just adding to the insanity he had locked up in his mind, making it more and more difficult to keep the walls there.

This time when he stumbled down the shadowed hall, still trying to push the nightmarish memories to the back of his mind, there was something off. Mathew might have noticed it if he wasn't still replaying that scene, _fires burning and flesh smoking and people screaming and HE had promised they would never do that_, over and over in his mind.

As it was, he didn't realize that Draco was behind him until the boy spoke.

"Don't you ever sleep?"

_It had started when he was sleeping, when all the troops were sleeping, and they couldn't stop it. They couldn't even get near the capital, let alone stop the American troops that were ravishing it._

Letting out a soft yelping noise, Mathew spun around. Without looking at who was there or even thinking about what he was doing, the Northern nation slammed Draco against the stone walls of the hallway. One hand clutched at the pale skinned boys shoulder, nails digging in painfully, and the other pressed against his neck; in the glow of the torches the thick mass of callouses littering the nation's almost painfully thin hands were clear.

"Ngh-" Draco let out a pathetic sort of whine, grey-blue eyes wide in something that was just bordering panic.

With a start, and a horrible stinging welling up in his chest as the haze over his mind started to clear, Mathew pulled away from Draco. The blond's hands flew to his neck, rubbing the no-doubt sore skin there. "Mon Dieu! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Draco, I didn't mean to!"

The stinging in his chest was getting worse now, as his housemate stared at him with distrust stirring at the edges of still-stunned features, and one of Mathew's hands fluttered to clutch at the dark green fabric there. He could feel his heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage, thudding quicker than it should and not slowing down.

_Eyes just a shade lighter than his own, pinning him against the wall. Stones dug into Mathew's back, pushing harder into the wounds that were already there and ripping the flesh further apart, the crimson liqued spilling out of his skin and staining his uniform. Those eyes didn't trust him, and that was fine, really, because Mathew didn't trust them anymore._

_"I'm sorry, Mattie, but you made me do this."_

"Y-you just scared me..." Mathew whispered, a slight tremor to his words that hadn't been there since he entered Hogwarts.

Another moment a painful silence passed, in which Mathew just stared out at Draco with a gaze that was quickly becoming blank, before the blond Slytherin managed to gather himself. Clearing his throat, he smoothed down the front of his night-shirt, and nodded at Mathew. "It's fine, I guess. Just don't make a habit of it, here me?"

Mathew could feel the relief just wash over him. "O-of course not. Again, Draco, I'm really sorry." He paused to swipe the back of his hand across his forehead. "D-did you need something?"

The pale blond rolled his eyes, hands folding neatly behind his back. "I wanted to know what you were doing up."

"Oh." Mathew blinked. "I was just..."

_He was just trying to protect his own country, Mathew told himself. He had to make sure that Alfred knew he wasn't one to be trampled upon. That his people weren't ones to stand by while their families died. That Alfred wasn't always right. Those thoughts repeated themselves, over and over and over in his mind, as he swiped the match and let it fall; red and orange and black quickly over taking white._

There it was again, that awful haze making its way over his mind again. Trying to keep his mind from working properly and to live like he was in the past. Mathew shook his head to try and shake away the feeling and forced a shaky smile on his face; plastered it there to help keep away the memories. "I just couldn't sleep. A lot of things to think about. I'm sure you understand, right Draco? I didn't mean to-to wake you."

Because he would, Mathew reasoned, be the only one in the school that could possibly understand despite the fact that the look suddenly on the other Slytherin's face said otherwise.


	6. Morning Routine

A/N: I'm really sorry that this chapter's so short. The muse isn't working very well lately but I didn't want to let it sit so long that everyone stopped reading. You can all think of it as sort of a filler chapter, though it's very essential to the plot. Probably more so than the previously posted chapters were. At least, I think it helps the plot along. Whether or not the rest of you figure it out is still to be realized. ^.^

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><p>It was odd, Mathew found himself thinking, that almost nothing had changed in his morning routines even though he now lived at a castle with hundreds of other students. Sure, he had to wear his long-sleeved pajamas right up until he changed into his robes, but that was it. Everything else was exactly the same.<p>

Mathew plucked up one of the plush green towels on the back of the sink and wiped at his mouth with it, lilac eyes purposefully keeping away from the mirror. He hated looking into those things unless he had to, hated seeing his image shiver and fade. He wiped off his toothbrush with the towel as well before letting the cloth rest on the back of the sink.

Bending down slightly, Mathew shoved his toothbrush back into the bag by his feet. He'd been looked at oddly the first few times that he brought a toiletry bag and robes into the Slytherin's personal bathroom with him, but he had steadfastedly ignored them. If he couldn't use his own counter then he was at least going to have everything he would need right beside him.

Most of his morning routine had already been done; face washed, hands washed, hair brushed, teeth brushed. All that he still had to do was find out just how bad he still looked. How much of his thoughts actually showed on his face and how much he would have to try to hide that day.

Mathew leaned forwards slightly, one arm resting on the porcelain of the sink and the other hand prodding slightly at the skin beneath his eye. Most of his face was a pale color, almost pasty looking, but beneath both of his eyes was a shadowy hue. Not as dark as it could have been but it was worse than it had been since he came to the castle.

He needed more sleep.

He trailed thin, boney fingers down his cheek before letting out a soft sigh and turning his gaze elsewhere. It happened to land on Draco, one of the other early inhabitants of the restroom.

The blond was going through his own morning motions on the other side of the room, upper body bent over the sink as he scrubbed at his face. He'd changed from his night-wear into his robes before he even left the stall; just like Canada had.

It was always long-sleeves with that one, the True North thought, lips tugging down into a frown. And as someone with much practice in the sport, Canada easily saw the signs that he was hiding something. Someone that young shouldn't have to hide anything; nothing but a traded secret between friends. Certaintly not something that a piece of cloth had to cover up.

But then, the Malfoy family had so much they were trying to hide. So much that they were unable to hide from the nations. England spoke of them, sure, not as often as he spoke of the Potter's and never with anywhere near as much love in his voice, but Canada knew them from a different source.

From being in the same class as Lucious' father.

From seeing the look in Draco's eyes in the mirror, reflected in light purple, when he was younger.

From knowing that family was important in the Malfoy line, even if most didn't think they valued it.

And that knowledge made his stomache churn and his throat burn and the horrible red haze that he hated, but at the same time loved because he was always noticed when it descended, was lurking just at the back of his mind. When he spoke though, his voice was soft and steady, showing nothing of what he really thought.

"Good morning, Draco. Almost ready for breakfast?"


	7. Flight: Winning Isn't Everything

A/N: I can't believe that Harry Potter has ended! ;-; Am I the only one out there that hasn't seen the final movie yet? Because all of my friends have gone, several even going on opening night, and it's sort of dissapointing. At least I know that, in the words of J. K. Rowling, Hogwarts will always be waiting to welcome me home. A shame that the walls aren't welcoming to Mathew, no?

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><p>"Do you fly?" Blaize asked, head tilting to the side slightly so that he could face Mathew without turning away from the quidditch practice going on in front of them.<p>

It was the first time that Mathew had seen any of his house-mates on their brooms and he was slightly dissapointed. Aside from Draco, the seeker, not many of them actually had any talent. Mathew knew the type; only out there to say they were out there and get extra classes off.

That was how Alfred had been when he was going to Hogwarts too. It wasn't the flying that called his brother to the field, but the fame and recognition that came from being the star-flyer of the Gryffindor team.

_Red and gold blurred together as he raced through the air, one handoutstretched in front of him as he reached for the small golden orb. For a moment, it looked like Alfred was going to catch it and end the game, Gryffindors would win again and the Slytherins would be left in the loosers place. The snitch flitted away, swooping under the broomstick and zooming off, just before Alfred's fist closed around it._

It hadn't surprised Mathew in the slightest when his brother made seeker. Alfred always did attract the attention onto himself.

Mathew had been a member of the Slytherin quidditch team, holding the same position as both his brother and Draco. Three years in a row, he'd held that position and he'd been good at it.

That first year, people saw him.

The second year, people knew his name.

The third year, Mathew couldn't take it anymore.

_A flash of green and silver was all that the crowd could see as Mathew zipped across the arena. He swerved around a Gryffindor beater, flew under his brother, and put on as large a speedburst as he could. One gloved hand reached out, grasping, grasping, and then...the game was his._

"I used to fly." Mathew offered as an answer, soft smile on his face just like it always was. His lapse in answering wasn't paid attention to since it had seemed like he was merely watching the game.

Slytherin was leading by twenty points. Draco had already spotted the snitch twice, too, though it had gotten away from him both times. It was making for a rather intense game actually.

Blaize frowned slightly, turning further away from the match so that he could look at Mathew better. "What do you mean you 'used to'?"

_Mathew had won and all of the school had seen it. He was bringing the snitch down to the ground, still grinning and panting, when he heard the announcer._

_"And the winner is Gryffindor, thanks to a marvelous catch by Alfred!"_

_No one believed him when he tried to tell them that Alfred hadn't caught the snitch. Alfred never said otherwise._

"Oh, I was just never any good at it. My brother, Alfred, he was the one good at flying." Mathew didn't say a word about the fact that, when he was flying, it felt as though he was free.

From his duties as a son and a brother.

From his responsibilites as a nation.

Free from everything.

But in that third of year of being a seeker, no one could tell the difference between himself and Alfred. Scores he made were given to his brother and Slytherin started to loose. So Mathew quit the team and, by that time, no one was really sad to him go. It gave other kids an opportunity to play.

Blaize nodded, mouth open to say something else, before it was announced that Draco had once more taken off after the snitch. This time, with Harry Potter in tow.

And Mathew watched as Draco put everything he had into his broom and reached for the snitch, desperatly trying to catch it -

_to be known and seen in a different light from usual_

- only to have it snatched away by the Gryffindor and the glory go elsewhere.

Mathew was the only Slytherin to clap, the only one on the entire green and silver clad side of the stadium, and stand up. Blaize and several other students gave him looks when he did but Mathew ignored them.

It was Draco he was clapping for, after all.


	8. Costumes Of Meaning part one

A/N: Look, the chapters are getting longer! This chapter's dedicated to SpiderOnTheWall, who gave me the inspiration to write another part so soon! This one is another two-parter, simply because I don't want to just bombard everyone with horribly long chapters. My writing will be getting longer though, now that the story is moving along rather nicely. Hopefully, this won't deter anyone from reading it!

Enjoy!

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><p>The Great Hall was filled with laughing students and smiling teachers, lit by floating jack-o-lanturns and black candles that would never melt. The House Tables had been pushed to one side of the room, an assortment of halloween themed food spread out on it in place of the typical dinner. One corner of the room had several tables and plush chairs set up in it, and the rest of the floor was cleared for dancing and mingling.<p>

Due to all of the stress that was being put on the students, what with everyone being aware of Voldemort's rise to power being placed ontop of the stress their sixth year exams would already have brought, Dumbledore had decided that a Halloween party would cheer everyone up. For the most part, it had. All of the students had dressed up, though no one was allowed to wear any form of a mask, and even a few of the teachers had donned more festive apparal.

Mathew thought it was a stupid idea.

Parties had never been his thing, though. That was his brothers forte. They were too crowded with people that he didn't know and never would, and the idea of getting drunk in public was one that Mathew did not fancy. Not that he was a big drinker. Alchohal was not the Northern Nations vice; that was saved for a more enjoyable past-time that, after this party, he was certaintly going to partake in.

Still, he'd gone along with it and dressed up like the rest of his schoolmates.

Draco had gotten his father to send both himself and Blaize some spectacular old-fashioned vampire robes, along with the name of a spell to give them temporary fangs.

Ron, who Mathew had been paired with several times in Potions class, was dressed up as some sort of make-shift zombie.

That blond girl, Luna, had turned herself into a spectacular alien; though she claimed it was a Zorfler, instead.

It was amazing that, despite how many kids there were, no one seemed to be wearing the costume.

Of course, it might just have been so amazing to Mathew because the only costume parties he had ever been to were the ones that Arthur had held when he was younger. The European nation would hold grand gala's and invite all of his high-class citizens, who would then come wearing gowns of silk and suits of satin with small feathered masks hiding their identeties from their fellow party go-ers. It was a far cry from the upbeat party that Dumbledore had organized.

Mathew's outfit didn't seem to fit either type of party though.

It wasn't highclass, not a single piece of expensive cloth or fancy embroderie in sight, but it wasn't really fun either. In looks or in memories.

_He shouldn't have felt pride for it, he knew. The heavy cotton fabric he held shouldn't have made him happy; and it didn't, because it meant his people would be going to war and loosing their lives. There was just an air of importance about having the uniform, one so different from either of his fathers or his brothers. It made him feel like a nation._

It worked though.

"Do I even want to know what you're supposed to be?" Draco asked, words spoken with a slight lisp thanks to the two fangs he now sported. They stuck out over his bottom teeth and lip in a fashion similar to the vampires that Mathew had seen skulking in Arthur's forests.

Blaize had wandered over to the snack table too and was giving Mathew a similar look as his blond friend. One eyebrow raised, fangs hanging over his bottom lip, and eyes shining with amusement. Halloween was the dark-haired Slytherin's favorite holiday, and the party had put him in a good mood.

Mathew sat his cup of Blood Punch, which tasted like strawberries and apples, down on the black tablecloth. He gave his two housemates a soft smile and ran one hand down the worn tan fabric of his uniform. "I'm a Canadian soldier from World War Two."

_They would be fighting alongside of France and England, and other nations that used to visit Mathew when he lived at Arthur's large house, and he would be at the frontline with his soldiers. Even though, tired and sore as he was, he didn't feel like doing anything much less fight a war. But Mathew wasn't about to ask his people to go out and fight without him; and maybe it would even help, make him better and not so see-through to everyone._

"It looks like you've been rolling in the mud with it on." Draco commented as he got himself a plastic cup of punch.

Blaize rolled his eyes, tapping the blond boy on the arm. "I think it's supposed to look like that. A muggle thing, right Mathew?"

It was rather dirty, Mathew supposed. Faint rust-colored stains were scattered across the tan fabric, larger splotches of the reddish-brown stained his left pants leg and his upper right torso. Old streaks of mud had been permenantly ingrained ingrained into the heavy fabric, on the knees and the elbows and his shoulders.

It also fit just as well as it had the last time he went to war wearing it.

The shoulders were baggy, the sleeves far too loose, and if it wasn't for the black belt around his waist, he was sure that his pants would be down around his knees. Mathew had lost weight since then too, which hadn't been helpful seeing as it had always been big on him, so even the parts of his tattered jacket and beat-up shirt that had fit him before hung off his thin frame now. The bottoms of his pants legs were frayed and torn, as were spots of his sleeve and the hem of his shirt. There were holes from bullets and slashes from bayonets scattering the fabric; leaving behind a story that he knew by heart.

It was pathetic looking, but he knew what wars and battles it had been worn to and what accomplishments had been achieved while he was wearing it.

It made him proud.

_Bombs went off and fires raged and people screamed; and Mathew suddenly realized that Arthur still had full control over his people. They had gone to help him and Francis voluntarily in the beginning but now, now his father wouldn't let his people leave and was forcing more and more to come across sea and fight. Ripping them from their lives and their families just as he had done to Mathew so many years ago. And his people were winning more and more everyday and it made him so proud, so alive, to know that they were all a part of him and that they were willing to fight in the mud and the trenches and the skies for him._

"Yes," The Canadian nodded. "it's a muggle thing."


	9. Costumes Of Meaning part two

A/N: Ok, so I have an apology for you all. I'm extremely sorry for not just the lateness of this chapter but for the chapter itself. I originally wanted to do a nice, light-hearted little thing for this chapter. I've realized that I'm unable to make chapters like that for this story. And that, when I do try, you are all forced to suffer through things like this one.

Also, to whoever voted in my poll, both of the options you chose will come shortly. Thanks for taking it!

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><p>"Alright, alright. So it wasn't the best story ever." Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, the off-white fabric of her blood-stained brides dress wrinkling at the movement. Like most of the other Slytherins, even though the Halloween party had ended almost an hour ago, she was still in her costume.<p>

After the party had ended, Dumbledore had sent all of the students up to bed. Mathew had been ready to go to his room and change; get out of the uniform he'd chosen to wear that morning and back into his own clothes, his own skin.

The rest of his house had other plans.

Goyle had been the one to suggest it and everyone else had thought it a fitting idea for the evening. Sitting around in the common room, eating candy that had been brought up via pocket, and exchanging the most terrifing tales that they could think of. No one had managed to come up with anything even remotely scary to Mathew. Blaize's tale about Shadow People had come close to it but...

_If he didn't look at them, they wouldn't bother him. That's what Mathew's uncle, Scotland, had said. Don't look at the shadows if he knew they shouldn't be there. And that one...The one standing at the end of his bed, black and empty __cold__, it shouldn't be there. So Mathew closed his eyes tight as he could, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and waited for it to go away. _

The rest of the stories had been rediculous. Unbelievable. Unimaginable. With no base or reason as to why the things were happening. And that last one...Even Crabbe and Goyle seemed unimpressed by it.

Draco snorted. "Not the best? That story was horrible, Pansy." He waved the hand that wasn't draped over the back of the sofa he was stretched out on in front of him. "A scarecrow that comes to life and skins the farmer that made it? How very believable."

Sticking out her jaw, the dark haired Slytherin girl frowned at Draco. "Oh, and yours was any better?" Pansy shook her head and laughed, a high-pitched nasally noise. "I don't think so!"

"Mine was better." Draco drawled. His story had been made up on the spot too, inspired by the costume that Pansy had charmed into being. A tragic tale of love lost and the disaster that trusting a swamp-witch would bring. "And, unlike yours, mine at least made sense!"

Pansy had already opened her mouth, retort ready, when Blaize leaned in front of her and grabbed a blood pop off the coffee table. Leaning back against the cushion, he shook his scarlet covered prize at them both. "Oh knock it off you two. Pansy, you're story sucked. Deal with it."

Draco cast the girl a cheeky grin, fake vampire teeth catching in the light, before turning to face Mathew. "What about you, Soldier Boy? You have anything to tell us?"

It was odd to see the normally withdrawn blond so cheerful. Since the party downstairs ended though, Draco had really gotten into the Halloween spirit. Talking, argueing, laughing...It was nice to know that whatever he was hiding under his cloak hadn't completely crushed his spirit yet.

And the only reason he was going to tell them his story, Mathew told himself, was because he didn't want to be the one to break that almost-happy atmosphere that filled the Slytherin common room. So, after a few moments hesitation, he nodded. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper. "Have any of you ever heard of the Wendigo?"

_It had so many names. So many tales and faces and origins. But he knew the truth. Mathew knew where it really came from. What it really was and what it wanted. How it was always hungry, always craving the warm sustenance that kept him alive. Forever alive. Forever hungry._

None of the others said anything, though Mathew could hear Pansy snort at the name. The noise made a surge of anger flare up in him because it wasn't anything to be laughing at, nothing to grin at like Goyle was off in the corner, but something to fear. Something that, if seen, would haunt you forever.

Casting a doleful look at his housemates, Mathew started his tale in a voice just as quiet as before. "It was made for the first time centuries ago. A tribe of natives in the northern part of Canada was running low on food. People were dieing. Cold. Hungry. And one man, a powerful warrior, wasn't ready to die yet. So he cornered the weakest man in his tribe and he killed him. That evening, his family feasted."

_It was back before he was given a name. Back when he was still just a person, living among his natives, and not yet Canada. Mathew had been appalled by his peoples actions; appalled by the fact that, every time one of them took a bite human flesh, he could taste it in his own mouth. _

It took a moment for the meaning behind his words to sink. When it did, Pansy pulled her face back in a mock gag and Blaize snickered.

Mathew felt his stomache churn and found himself wondering why he had chosen this tale, this part of his history, to tell. "The act of canniblism opened the warrior to the evil spirits that lived in the woods nearby though and, that same night, he lost his soul. The people of his tribe called him a Wendigo after that. They feared him above all else."

"And why," Draco drawled, amused look on his face. "did they fear him? Afraid he would start to eat them too?"

"Because a Wendigo is never full." Mathew whispered. Licking his lips, Mathew stared into the fireplace flickering just past Draco's head. "And once they have your scent, they chase you until you can't even walk anymore."

_Mathew had never hated his connection with his people more than he did then. When one of his people turned to that awful method to survive, he felt their misery. When they changed into the grotesque form of a Wendigo, neither dead nor alive, he felt their hunger. And when they set chase after their prey, he felt thier energy flow through his veins. Tasted the spoils of his victory. Heard the screams of the fallen warrior when his legs finally gave out on him. And Mathew wanted nothing more than to cut off his connections with them and sleep at night._

And there was something about the shadows that played across Mathew's face, the way those last few words were spoken with such finality, that sent shivers down the other Slytherins spines.

Mathew didn't stay to listen to the rest of the stories.


	10. Seldom Spoken Words part one

A/N: I hope everyone doesn't kill me for this chapter. It's mostly a filler chapter. Which, in case anyone would like to listen to my defence before burning me at the stake, I was loathe to write. It's just that it wouldn't be possible to get to any of the other actual plot-related chapters up; huge time skips aren't what I'm going for in this, after all.

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><p>Nearly two weeks after Thanksgiving found the students of Hogwarts on their first weekend trip to Hogsmead.<p>

The minute that the teachers set them all loose, they broke off into groups of two or more, scattering in all directions. Laughter and voices too loud to be considered anywhere near polite had filled the air, breaking the peaceful quiet that the town had been in before everyone got there.

A few of the more elderly wizards that lived in the town cast the students dissaproving looks. Most of the children were too cuaght up in being free from the boundries of the school to give them any attention and the ones who did, the younger and more rambunctious students, sent looks right back at them.

Mathew was too busy browsing the shelves of Honeydukes to pay attention to those noise, though. Compared to the G8 meetings, which he could tune out almost completely, the noise of overly happy children was nothing; and if the meetings didn't give him enough practice to block out unwanted noise, living in the same house as a fueding Alfred and Arthur had.

_They were shouting again. They did that a lot lately, shouted and cursed and fought like they had completely forgotten the last few centuries worth of a relatioship that they'd had. It always scared Mathew who, while living in the same posh mansion as Francis, had never come anywhere near such fights; and the fights he'd been in with his people, back before he was colonized, had never been filled with so much __hate__._

Besides, the vass amount of wizard candies in the store had caught his attention almost immideatly. All the different types and flavors, the bright colored wrappers that covered the wall and the blood colored lollipops that filled the stand in the center of the store...It was a sight that Mathew could honestly say he'd never seen before.

When he was in Hogwarts, he'd only ever been to Hogsmead twice. The first two trips during his fourth year, Mathew had recieved letters stating that he was allowed to go. Alfred was the only one who ever got a letter of permission from Arthur after that; it had baffled the headmaster and the teachers the first few times it had happened, just like it had surprised his near-twin, but after a while it hadn't even seemed to register to them that only one of Kirkland's boys was allowed into Hogsmead.

And back then, the shop hadn't had anywhere as near a large selection. Which mean that half of the treats on sale were things that Mathew had never even seen before. A lot of the candies that he had bought before, like the Goulsicles and the Popped Pixe-corn, weren't anywhere to be seen either.

Mathew pushed the thought out of his mind quick as he could, forcing himself to focus on the array of sugery sweets in front of him. His first trip to the wizarding town in centuries was not going to be ruined by a thought simple as that.

Just as he was reaching for a bar of chocolate on one of the lower shelves, one that had no label and no ingrediant list on it, a hand reached out and landed on his shoulder. Surprised, Mathew jumped, arms jerking towards his chest to keep himself from lashing out at whoever was behind him.

"I wouldn't buy that if I were you." Draco warned, not noticing the way that Mathew turned around in a jerky motion or the deep breaths he was now taking. "It's got an awful bite to it, and I don't mean flavor-wise."

"Oh." Mathew blinked and let his arms drop back to his sides, shoving his hands back into his jeans pockets. Because they weren't in school, the students had all been allowed to wear their own clothes for the day; and he didn't think it would be such a relief to get back into his baggy, red sweatshirt but it was. "Thank you."

The Slytherin boy gave him an odd look. It was almost a frown, but not quite. Something more like...Like he was curious about something and the thought of it annoyed him to no end.

"Is something wrong?" Mathew asked, voice far lower than any of the other students.

There was a moment of silence before Draco spoke, lips pursed together and eyebrows drawn tight. "You don't speak much, do you?"

At first, the Slytherin had just figured it was because of the teachers. He knew plenty of kids that only acted out and spoke up when none of the adults were around, Blaize included. But Mathew hadn't spoken much since they came to Hogsmead either and, when the blond did, it was in that same soft voice. It was starting to get annoying.

Children, when not in the act of keeping up an appearence, weren't supposed to be so quiet. Draco, maybe more than anyone, knew that. It just wasn't how a kid should act.

"I...Guess I don't." Mathew answered. It was hard starting up a conversation, or even just joining in one, when he was so used to being ignored and talked over.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Draco leaned back against one of the shelves behind him. The owner gave him a warning look, _don't you dare knock my display over_, but passed up a scolding to go and supervise a group of Hufflepuff's that had just walked in. "Why not?"

Mathew blinked. Pulling his lower lip into his mouth, and biting down on it hard, the blond gave a small shrug.

_Arthur had never actually told Mathew that he couldn't speak. No, the Britt had just told him that French was a language never to be spoken in his home. Punishment was harsh when Mathew slipped up, it __hurt__ when he slipped up, and since he didn't know more than a few words of English he just decided it was best not to speak._

"It's just..." Mathew paused. Thinking through every word he could say, every response it could have, and trying not to let his face show how he really felt right then; and it didn't, because Mathew was better than that. Something as small as this question, as easy to answer aas this one should be, couldn't break his carefully constructed smile.

_It was a typical World Meeting. Nations were arguing, they were shouting and pointing and raising blames as they boosted their egos and spoke about what was going on in their countries. Mathew's turn to have the podium had happened almost an hour ago and, for once, the blond had been looking forward to standing up and speaking; he had just been given full status as a nation and was expected to give a speech on the form of government he would have that day. But no one had even looked his way and, after Alfred's turn ended, Kiku was called up instead. Honestly, Mathew wasn't surprised._

"It's just how I was raised." The answer was lacking at best but the Slytherin boy seemed to decide it was enough. Draco gave a small nod, face still twisted into the slightest of frowns, and motioned for Mathew to join him on the other side of the store with Crabbe anf Goyle.


End file.
